The Hetalia Games
by Yesteryear's Killer Liner
Summary: Alice is described as several things: Sarcastic, proper, stoic, strong... But despite being known as the town's best archer, it's a shock to everyone when she steps in for her sister, Madeline, at the Reaping. Rated T for gore and violence
1. Chapter 1

I always wake up early, admittedly, but I wake up even earlier today. I can't sleep. I won't sleep. My mind won't let me.

Letting out a sigh, I leave the comfort of the bed I share with my younger sister. The air is cold against my skin, my thin nightgown doing me little good. My glasses are cracked slightly, but I push them to my face. We can't afford new ones.

We live in the poorest district; 12, or more commonly known as Seam. We are the district boardering the forsaken wilderness, and the dead District 13. Our population is made up of mainly coal miners; faces grimed with soot, blackened nails, hardened expressions. Stoic.

Sleeping at Madeline's feet is her cat, Kuma. Kuma has pure white fur and green eyes. He catches so many rodents that he is rather large, for a cat. We joke and call him "the bear." He doesn't like anyone except Madeline, however. She's his special friend. He respects me only because I feed him the "leftovers" from my hunting.

In the dim light of morning, I change into my hunting clothes: dull, bottle green pants, and a simple, faded shirt. A jacket that matches the pants. Combat boots. I take a cap and tuck my long, blonde hair into it. The hat used to be my mother's, but she gave it to me. She has no use for it anymore, and it brings back memories of my deceased father, who gave it to her. It's too much for her.

In a small jar on the table is an amber coloured liquid: syrup. Madeline must have left it for me as a Reaping day present. She loves to tap maple trees for the sweet sap inside. I have no bread to go with it, but it will be quick energy. It goes straight into my pocket and I quietly leave the house.

Though at this hour on most days, the streets are packed with those going to the mines, they are not today. There is no work today. The Reaping is today. No one is out, as the reaping will not start until 2:00.

I finally arrive at the femce, and instinctively listen Though it's supposed to be on 24/7/365 to keep all the ghosties and ghoulies out of the town, it is only on for three hours at dusk. We only get electricity for three hours a day.

No sound, of course. I army-crawl under a small opening that has been here as long as I can remember, and walk into the woods.

Poaching is punishable by death, but I risk it to put food on the table for my mother and sister. As I said, we live in the poorest district. There is little food. Luckily, I have an eccelent weapon, as well as perfect aim. A beautiful, hand-crafted bow and a quiver of arrows. Hand made by my father. A rarity. Comfort floods me as I pick it up. I feel at ease.

"Hey, Artie," I hear a voice from behind me say. I roll my eyes, knowing who it is. It's Alfred Jones, my closest friend. We look fairly similar, give or take a few inches and the fact that his eyes are cobalt blue. Mine are emerald green. We wear the same type of glasses.

"You know very well that my name is Alice," I retort. I had been quiet when I first told him my name, and with my cap, he thought I was a boy. He has been calling me Artie ever since.

"I know," he said, "but I like Artie better. Check out what I shot!" He grinned crazily, holding up a loaf of bread with an arrow lodged in the center. I have to laugh.

"That must've cost you a fortune."

"Not really. Brohean felt generous and I got it for a squirell." He hands it to me. It smells so good. I remember the syrup.

"Maddie left us this." I say, handing the bread back to him and holding it up. He grins happily. How does he stay so optimistic?

"Your sister rocks! Tell her thanks!" He breaks the bread in two, and I pour syrup over it. We eat our breakfast. After a minute, he snickers, giving himself a more classy version of a southern accent. A Capitol accent. "And might I wish you a happy Hetalian Games."

"and may the odds be forever in your favor," I finish.

We sit in silence for a while. He breaks the silemce eventually. "So... Want to blow this place? Live in the woods, away from all the chaos in the districts?"

I don't know how to respond. He smirks.

"Too bad; we have too many 'kids'," he snickers. He means Madeline, and his brothers, of course. We aren't together, and we're too young to have kids.

"I can't leave her. You know that."

"Whatever," he brushes it aside. Let's just get our hunt. We want to have something good for tonight."

Tonight. That's when the town, with the exception of two families, will be celebrating another reaping where their children are safe. The other families will be fearing for their children's lives.

Before noon, we have made out well. We caught a couple rabbits and a squirrel, as well as some berries, greens, and fish, We walk back to town to the Hub, our black market. Usually on this so-called special day, the town's business is dead, but the Hub is always open. We trade some of the fish for bread, some for salt, soand the squirrel for butter. We give the greens to the soup lady, who will pay is back later.

On our way home, we go to the mayor's house; he has a fetish for berries. His daughter opens the door in her splended outfit. A blue dress with white trim, her dark brown hair plaited in braids. Her reaping outfit.

Her name is Michelle. Unlike the other higher ups, she is kind, and not snooby.

"Nice dress,"Al compliments her. She smiles.

"Thank you. I must look nice if I get reaped."

"Your chances are less then that of mine," Al retorts. "You know Alice and I put our names in there extra times so that we can get extra food for our families."

"Leave her be... It's not her fault..." I mutter. She pays us for the strawberries.

"May the odds be forever in your favor," she says.

I reflect as we walk home. The reaping is a big deal here in Panem. When one turns 12, their name goes up for reaping. Every year, the number of times goes up by one until your final reaping at age 18. Your name traditionally goes in a total of seven times.

Here is the catch: if you put in your name extra, each extra time is worth a year's supply of grain for one person. I do this each year for my family. My name is in there 20 times? And I am only 16. Al's name is in there 42 times.

We divide our meager rations between ourselves, and agree to meet in the square. He tells me to wear something nice.

At home, my mother and Madeline are ready to go. My mother, Brie, wearing her old apothecary dress. Madeline is wearing my old reaping blouse and skirt, though the back won't stay tucked in. I wear a green dress and braid one strand of hair, tucking it into one of my twintails. It's Madeline's first reaping.

We save the hunting spoils for dinner and eat some coarse bread before heading out. We arrive an hour early, and others begin to fill in. Everyone must be here, unless they're dying. If not, they go to jail.

Us aged 12-18 go to our respective areas, and our families gather around. The mayor steps up, along with the escort for our district, Feliks, and former tribute, Allistor.

The mayor begins the traditional "history lesson". The story of Panem. Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once the United States. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, and the seas that swallowed up so much of the land, not to mention brutal war for what land remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then, the Dark Days came, and the districts revolted against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Hetalian Games were created to remind us the Capitol is in complete control.

The Game's rules are simple. Each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The Tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Throughout several weeks, the tributes must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

Allistor is drunk off again. It figures. He always is. Feliks adjusts his ostentatious outfit and stepps up.

"Happy Hetalian Games!" He says in his Polish accent. "May the odds, like, be forever in your favor!" He begins drawing names. "Ladies first."

I feel sick. Something is not right. I want to run, but can't.

But it's not my name.

"Madeline Kirkland," he says as my blood runs cold.


	2. Chapter 2

Shock is when you're zapped by electricity. Shock is when one sees their loved one cheating on them. Shock is when you learn that your whole life has been a lie.

If you combine all those feelings, that'd be how I felt now. It was Madeline. Madeline was reaped. Poor, sweet Madeline who would never do anyone harm. Madeline, my little sister.

The crowd mutters in disapproval as they always do when someone of her age is chosen. "No," I mutter. "No no no no no no no no..." A sad, sideways glance from her is what brings me to my senses. I gasp, drawing in breath, and then say something that shocks everyone.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Everyone stares at me, making me uncomfortable. "That's, like, fabulous," Feliks says, "but protocol like, says that I must introduce who we reaped before asking for volunteers.

Michelle's father, the mayor, speaks up. "Should it matter?" He asks. "She already said she'd do it." I walk foward as he says this.

"Please," Madeline sobs behind me. "You can't go... You can't..." Alfred holds her close, telling me to go to the stage. I do just that.

"Fabulous," Feliks says, and Allistor grunts in approval. "Like, tell us your name," he says. I bite my lip.

"Alice Kirkland..."

"The young lady's sister! Let's hear it for her!"

No one usually claps, as District 12 normally has no chance of winning. But this time, the crowd claps anyway. Perhaps the fact that I stood in for my sister was touching.

Much to everyone's surprise, Allistor walks over and hugs me. "I like this lass," he grunts, his heavy scottish accent and the slur due to him being drunk garbles his words. He smells of scotch and whiskey. He looks me in the eyes, grinning like a madman. "She 'as some spirit in 'er yet!" He turns to the camera filming this. "Ye 'ear that! She 'as spirit!" He then stumbles off stage and passes out.

Feliks dpeaks up. "How touching and exciting!" He says. "Now to choose our boy tribute." He draws a name. "Oliver Kirkland."

There are two, unrelated Kirkland families in the district. Not related by blood or anything. Even so, I cringe when Oliver is called.

Oliver has light strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. His face is dotted with freckles. He has three older brothers who are too old to volunteer as tribute, nor would they want to.

Why am I so upset that it's Oliver? We never speak to one another, and we're not friends. But there is a reason.

After father died, my mother sister and I had been starving. The district gave us some money in compensation of his death, but my mother was to find a job before the money ran out. The problem was that she was in too much shock. She couldn't take care of us. She would lay in bed doing nothing. I had to take car of everyone, going to buy provisions and going to the Hub. But the money soon ran out. As it was winter, we couldn't grow anything. We'd starve to death.

I left the house one day in the last weeks of winter, tired and hungry. I had to get food. I had to or else we would die. I spent hours looking through garbage bins for anything edible with no luck.

as I was looking in the bakery garbage bin, Oliver was walking home. He glanced at me before going inside. I kept looking, until his second oldest brother came outside. "Scat!" Drew said, and I ran to the corner.

I couldn't go home until I had food. I just couldn't.

From inside the bakery, I heard yelling. "Brohean!" I heard Drew say, "You burned the bread! Oliver, go feed it to the pig!"

A minute later, I saw Oliver come outside with two loaves of bread. He put one loaf in the pig pen, then glanced at me again.

A moment later, something fell in front of me. A loaf of bread. I looked bavk to see Oliver going back inside. It was burnt, but still edible. I took it home, and we managed to survive on it by having thin sluces. It was coarse bread with nuts and rasins.

It had been Oliver that had saved us.

I knew that I wouldn't be able to bring myself to kill him in the games. It

So much for "may the odds be forever in your favor."


End file.
